


Rewrite an Ending or Two (For The Girl That I Knew)

by tambuli



Series: surviving love [3]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fix-It, Fjord and Jester are married and it is not happy, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Jester Lavorre-centric, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Unhappy marriage, Unrequited Love, Wedding, Widojest Week, don't worry they all got better, i mean this is pining au what do you expect
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 13:12:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19768918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tambuli/pseuds/tambuli
Summary: Growing stronger each day 'til it finally reminds her / To fight just a little, to bring back the fire in her eyes / That's been gone, but used to be mineOr: In which Jester Lavorre gets the dream wedding, the dream husband, the dream life--only to realize that the thing about dreams is that eventually, you have to wake up.(A fix-it for the Surviving Love series.)





	Rewrite an Ending or Two (For The Girl That I Knew)

**Author's Note:**

> For the Widojest server, who loves and hates this universe as much as I do. In the words of AK: Caleb might have survived love, but we can’t.

Jester’s [wedding ring is white gold and sapphire entwined](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/66/84/22/668422ac537e7ce8c655a2de90b4bb51.jpg), and when Fjord slides it onto her left ring finger, she smiles so hard her face actually hurts.

 _This is everything I ever wanted_ , she thinks, _everything I ever dreamed of—_ the weight of her gown, heavy with embroidery and beading; Mama in a cream gown similar to but so, so much more subdued than her own; the soft sniffling of the crowd (and, audibly, Nott); the man, the handsome man, looking up at her shyly, hesitantly, face creased with a smile and scars. 

In this light, the magical lanterns limn Fjord’s tusks with gold, stark against dark green lips. She lets her eyes linger, lets herself go back to their first kiss. _He saved my life. Our first kiss was to save my life,_ she thinks, and pushes away the memory of water, of drowning— _when Fjord first kissed me, I was dizzy, I was breathless_ , she’d told her mother. Mama had giggled like a schoolgirl and Jester had laughed along, spinning the story of cultists and magic and power and making it all seem like an _adventure._

And it was! It was! It was all an adventure, the best kind of adventure, and now, the princess marries the hero and they get to live _happily ever after._

As he slides the ring down the last knuckle, his smile solidifies, turns realer. “Love you, Jessie,” he whispers.

Jester wants to lose herself in the way his yellow eyes look at her, yellow eyes that brim with affection, and her heart is so full it overflows into her bloodstream— _happiness, joy, you chose me, you chose me. Someone **chose** me_—

She says it back: “I love you, Fjord,” accidentally-on-purpose too loud. His green cheeks flush dark and he darts a glance at the audience to see if anyone heard.

A laugh bubbles up in Jester’s throat, and she casts her eyes across their audience, as well.

Mama is there, elegantly patting at her under eyes instead of swiping the back of her hand across her eyes, like Jester might have done. When she pulls her handkerchief away, there’s not a blot of mascara or eyeliner on it. Their eyes lock, blue eyes on crimson, and Mama smiles: a small happy heartbroken thing.

Then Jester’s gaze falls upon the Mighty Nein, and her heart—it honestly feels like it _sparkles_.

Caduceus’s pink fuzzy ears are perked up and he’s smiling placidly, knowingly, at Jester—he heard, of course he did. _Perceptive cow,_ she hears Beau say in her mind, and she sends a cheeky grin Caduceus’s way. In his formal robes, green-and-pink and looking like it was stitched together by some fey sprites, Caduceus looks both holy and unearthly. 

Beau is there, all done up in a dashing blue pantsuit, tailored to let her move easily if they ever get into a fight. _And knowing us, Jessie_ , Beau had said at the tailor’s, _there’s going to be a fight._ Her tie is perfectly, carelessly askew. Yasha is beside her, gowned in feathery, angelic white. Her dark hair is wreathed with flowers. She’s holding Beau’s hand, and if her smile has a hint of tears in it Jester can’t blame her.

Nott is visibly crying, the tears sliding down brown cheeks and plopping onto her [thickly embroidered floral skirt](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/19/45/75/19457501463836c09e5adcf94476d2a3.jpg); Caleb has his arm about her while rummaging for a handkerchief in his (new, clean, lovely) dark purple coat. In this light his hair is red-gold.

Her heart, already bursting with love and joy, grows a size larger.

She loves them. _Gods_ but she loves them, her family, her heart, _her_ Mighty Nein.

She looks back at Fjord, and sees him linger a moment longer on their friends, before turning back to her.

 _You may now kiss the bride_ , the cleric says, and she tips her face up to Fjord. Her eyes close, and it’s hardly their first kiss but when he kisses her it feels…it feels like a beginning.

(Fjord’s mouth presses against hers and punctuates her life, _bride, wife, wanted, chosen, loved_ —and when Jester opens her eyes she thinks to herself, _I am made new._ )

(Not _secret child_ not _fatherless girl._ She is Jester Lavorre, and someone actually _chose her._ )

Then the room erupts into cheers, and as their friends and family converge upon them, she takes Fjord’s hand into hers and it’s everything she ever dreamed of, really, really.

 _Thank you, Traveler,_ she sends out, and the thought that touches her mind in return is sad and sweet as he says, _Whatever you wish, dear heart._

**

Of course, just because Fjord chose her doesn’t mean he’s a particularly good dancer.

“Ow! Fjord!” Jester half-laughs half-reprimands, as Fjord treads on her toes again for the third time this song.

“Sorry, Jessie,” Fjord says, and he tightens his grip on her hand. “I’m not that good at this sort of thing.”

“Oh, _Fjord_ ,” she says. “It’s not that hard, okay? I’ll teach you. Come on, like this, see—we’re waltzing, and you do your steps like this, step-forward-step-side-close-step and repeat. Step-forward-step-side-close-step and repeat. Watch my feet!”

“Jester, I don’t know how to tell you this but I _can’t see your feet._ No one can see your feet, your dress is in the way!”

Jester tips her head back, the jewelry on her horns clinking, and laughs.

Okay, so her dress is a bit of a lot! Or a lot a lot! She loves it anyway—it’s so luxurious and heavy and so, so _different_ from the leather armor she’d lived in for years. Jester did a lot of the embroidery herself, and it’s _gorgeous_ if she does say so—the full skirt swishes out with a sound reminiscent of water, and the silver seaweed embroidery sparkles in the light. Golden fish and golden coins and secret treasures glitter on the ocean-floor hem.

You would have to spend a really, _reaaalllllyyyy_ long time looking at her gown to even find all the secrets she’d hidden in there.

(Including the dicks that looked like fish.)

(And the secret Traveler symbol behind a clump of silver seaweed.)

(And the cunningly hidden _MN_ s she’d scattered about.) 

She loves this dress. It’s the best wedding dress _ever_.

“It’s so pretty though!” she says. And Fjord looks down at her with so much affection and, “Yes. The prettiest.”

She preens, and they complete another box step.

Or, well, they do, almost, but Fjord trips on his footwork.

“Okay, how about this,” Jester says. “How about we just…close our eyes and sway.”

“That’s easier,” Fjord says in relief, and she laughs, pressing her face into his chest. His arms go around her automatically. She nestles in.

The song changes, courtesy of the magical musicians, and Jester hears Caduceus’s voice say, “May I cut in?”

Jester beams at him. Her fellow cleric! “Of course, always, you don’t mind, Fjord?” she says, and Fjord grins boyishly, charmingly, the grin she fell in love with—“I wanted some lemonade anyway,” he says, “a break and then I’ll come back to you?”

“Of course you will,” Jester teases, “you _married_ me.”

(She thrills all over again: _married, married, wanted, chosen, loved._ )

Caduceus takes her hands, and they don’t stand and sway, not really, they more—glide and revolve. Jester is so much smaller than Caduceus, but they move perfectly—Fjord is _such_ a bad dancer. She feels a giggle swelling up in her breastbone, love and laughter and joy all bubbling up inside her.

She rests her head on his chest and impulsively declares: “Caduceus, I love you.”

Caduceus’s chest rumbles in mirth. “I love you too.”

“I mean!” Jester starts laughing again, she’s not actually sure she’s ever going to stop? She’s just so _happy_. “I love you, and I love everyone, and the world is just so—so—” She pauses. “Caduceus, the world is so _sparkly._ I’ve never in my life been so happy.”

Caduceus spins her out, and says, “I’m happy for you, Jester.” As she spins out, she extends her left hand to balance herself. “Your ring is pretty. I assume the sapphires are for your nickname?”

“Yes! You know, Caduceus, I planned out my _entire wedding_ when I was a little girl, _down to the ring,_ because I was Mama’s Little Sapphire you know! So of _course_ my ring had to be all blue and sparkly and sapphire.”

Caduceus hums as they complete a box step. “I thought your favorite gem was actually pearls.”

Jester pauses for a moment, just enough for her footwork to be off. She hurries to correct it. “Well!” she says, and then can’t say anything more. “Well!”

She _does_ like pearls, actually. She likes how they can be pink and white and black, she likes their sheen, she likes how pearls look in her hair. Every single color of pearl looks pretty in her dark blue hair, as opposed to sapphires which are mostly blue and thus tend to blend in, in _her._

Well, not all sapphires are blue, but! All the sapphires people give to her _are_ , because she’s blue and—it’s her _nickname_.

“It’s my nickname,” she says to Caduceus, and then, “well, I was _seven_ when I started planning my wedding, Caduceus,” and then, “Also, they’re representative of peace and happiness! And they can help you predict the future! All nice things!”

“That’s true,” Caduceus agrees placidly, and they revolve again. “I just know you like your pearl of power a lot.”

“I do! Its extra magic saved our lives a lot, didn’t it? I wonder why precious stones are just so—inherently _magical_. I mean, diamonds can bring back the dead!”

Caduceus nods, and they lock eyes, and they remember for a moment all the times diamonds had saved their lives, had brought back their friends’ lives—

(Jester, sleeves wet up to the elbow with Nott’s blood—)

(Caduceus, hands on Beau’s sternum, chanting frantically as the magic coalesced around her form—)

They look away.

“Diamonds and lots of magic, anyway,” Jester says softly.

The song ends and Caduceus bows and thanks her for the dance. Jester hugs him and kisses his cheek. She _does_ love Caduceus. She’s so fond of him, she’s so fond of all the Mighty Nein, she’s going to miss them so much—

 _No,_ she tells herself sternly, _they’re not going away, **away.** Sure, everyone’s going home—Nott to the Empire, Caduceus to the Blooming Grove…but we’ll stay in touch! Of course we will. We’re **best friends.**_

More than best friends, even—family. They’re _family._ They are always, always going to be together.

Jester turns, looks to leave the dance floor, but then the magical musicians strike up a jaunty, merry tune, and then Nott is flinging herself into her arms, and then Beau, and then Yasha, and before she knows it she’s in a circle with the girls of the Mighty Nein. They giggle hysterically as they clasp hands and spin around and around in a ridiculous dance.

Nott clings to Jester, mostly to annoy Beau, who is shouting, “Hey, let me have a turn, she’s _my_ roommate!” Jester laughs again, again and again, oh she’s never laughed this much in a day in her whole life probably!—she detaches herself and, when Beau leaps over her swishing skirt and makes to grab her, ducks out of the way and instead grabs Yasha.

“Hey!” Beau shouts, but she’s grinning. She turns to Nott. “All right, you and me are gonna have a dance-off.”

“Bring it!” Nott challenges.

Beau and Nott begin to “break it down yo!” and Jester laughs, settling into a more sedate dance with Yasha. Blue hands entangle with pale ones, and Yasha rests her chin on Jester’s hand, careful to avoid the gold-tipped horns.

They sway, and Yasha says softly, “I wish you all the happiness, Jester. You deserve it.”

Will her heart ever stop growing? Jester bites her lip as the smile spreads, and she throws her arms around Yasha’s waist. Her heart brims full as she says, “So do you, Yasha, so do you. You deserve to be happy!”

Yasha spins them about, and says, “Want to know a secret?”

Jester leans closer, peering up at her friend.

“I already am.”

Jester grins so wide her face hurts.

“I’m glad!” she says, “Oh, I just want _everyone to be happy._ It’s like I was telling Caduceus earlier! I just! Love everyone right now!”

“And everyone loves you, Jessie!” Nott crows, as she dances about Beau. Beau is doing some weird spinny thing on the ground, actually pretty cool to look at? Like, she had one hand on the ground, pushing herself up, and then spinning her legs around and around? While Nott was just flailing about with her hands and arms, doing the dance she and Jester had made up in Hupperdook.

“Yeah,” Beau agrees, barely out of breath, “love you, Jes.”

Jester smiles.

They do eventually get tired, and they all slump down the closest table to the dance floor. Caleb’s there, and he smiles at them, a tight and terse thing. His fingers, Jester notices, are gripped tight around his glass.

 _Oh, Cayleb,_ her heart whispers. She’s about to reach out to him, when Nott says, “Caleb, can you get us something to drink, please?”

His smile turns a little realer about the corners. “Alcoholic or no?”

“Get me the strongest proof they have, don’t care if it strips paint,” Beau commands. Nott says, “Oh, anything, you know what I like, Caycay,” and Yasha requests, “Something sweet and…fruity, please.”

Caleb turns to Jester. “And you, Frau Tusktooth?”

“Oh!” Jester flushes hot. In this golden light his eyes are very, very blue and very, very intent. “He’s taking my name actually! _Fjord Lavorre,_ ” and she breathes the name, a sweet shock, “ _Fjord Lavorre_ , oh my god.”

“Jessie you are **_so purple_** right now!” Nott crows, and Jester buries her face in her hands.

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

Caleb’s smile is even tighter when Jester looks up at him again. Her heart hurts. “Milk, please.”

“Still milk, Jes? At your wedding?” Beau says. “If there was ever a fuckin’ time to sample a bit, get a little tipsy, it’s now!”

“Well, she doesn’t want to be _impaired_ later, does she?” Nott says.

“Nott!”

Jester is bright purple again, she just knows it. Well! She is the _best_ at sex, she knows a _lot_ about sex, but. But it’s really, really different when it’s going to be _her_ , you know? And she and Fjord have never—have never—well. They’ve kissed a lot!...Some. They’ve kissed _some_ , but Fjord knows that Jester is…a little hesitant, because, well, she wants **It** to be special. _Important._

In the back of her mind she hears her mother lecturing, _Virginity is a social construct, my darling_ , but also her mother, soft-voiced, _Nevertheless, if you want to save yours, my little sapphire, that is up to you. Your body is your own._

And, just, _oh_ , Jester wants the _romance._ She wants the magic. She wants to look Fjord in the eyes as they _become one,_ and she wants to know, deep in her soul, that he was her _first_ and _last_ and _only._

She knows she’s not his. That’s all right with her, as long as she’s _his_ last.

“Milk it is,” Caleb says, and nods to them. “I’ll be back in a moment.” And he disappears into the crowd.

A moment, as they watch him disappear, and then Yasha says, “Is Caleb…sad?”

“He is,” Beau says, eyes narrowed.

“Is it…” Jester’s throat is tight. She turns to Nott. “Is it…Astrid?”

Nott’s smile drops off her face, and she bites her lip. “I guess so. I mean…” she gestures to all the Chateau residents, to their old friends, to the gorgeous lighting and the beautifully plated food and just, everything, all of seven-year-old Jester’s dreams come to life. “He isn’t going to get married any more, I think, and. I think it’s made him sad.”

“He could,” Yasha says softly. “He could…fall in love again.”

Beau averts her eyes, but she’s smiling.

“Astrid was The One for him, though,” Jester says softly. She picks up a napkin swan off the table and begins unfolding it. “Didn’t he tell us, Nott? He said he loved her.”

“He doesn’t have to _forever_ ,” Yasha insists.

“No, he doesn’t have to,” Nott says. Her eyes are steel. “I’ll find him someone new to love!”

“Oh, maybe Essek?” Yasha suggests.

“Essek _Theylss_? Why him?” Beau demands.

“Well, Essek seems to like him!” Nott defends.

“No, no, _Leylas Kryn_ ,” Beau says.

“Leylas _Kryn_? Why her?”

“Why _not_ her? Are you saying she’s _too good_ for our Caleb?”

“No, I’m saying Caleb is too good for _her_!”

“Oh, oh, oh, consider: Leylas _and_ Essek!”

“ _What_?!”

Jester lets her friends squabble, their talk washing over her as she bites her lip (oh no, her _lipstick_ —never mind) and wrinkles the napkin swan.

It’s just. If Caleb loves Astrid. If Caleb _still_ loves Astrid…

She can feel it, the magic hiding in her veins. She can feel the tingles of power, just waiting to be called on.

 _Traveler?_ she asks quietly. _Could I...?_

The Traveler comes to her, his fey-green presence touching her mind, soft and dangerous and loving. _You could. You can. I can give you that power._

 _Astrid doesn’t…have a body anymore though,_ Jester says.

_You are strong enough to bypass that now, dear heart. You need only collect the components, and I can give you the power to bring her forth…if you desire._

_I desire…_ she pauses. _I desire…Caleb’s happiness._

She breathes in, and the Traveler waits. He knows her, she thinks, and her heart swells again; he knows her, he has known her nearly all her life, he knows when she needs to collect her thoughts, he knows her—

_It’s just. Traveler, everyone is happy. Nott has Yeza and Luc, Caduceus has his family and his forest, Beau and Yasha are…Beau and Yasha. And there’s Fjord and me!_

_Yes,_ the Traveler agrees. _You are happy._

 _But Caleb…isn’t,_ Jester says softly. _Caleb...still loves Astrid, and if I can give him her…_

 _Why do you think Caleb is not happy?_ The Traveler inquires. _You say ‘Caduceus has his family and his forest’ and thus he is happy, despite him not having a lover. Why do you assume Caleb cannot be happy on his own?_

 _Caleb…isn’t…_ Jester struggles to articulate herself, and the Traveler waits patiently. _Caduceus never seemed like he wanted…a lover? But Caleb…oh, I’m doing this all wrong!_

The Traveler waits.

 _I don’t know how to say it,_ she says plainly. _But Traveler! Caduceus is happy, I can see it! But Caleb is not. And if I can make him happy, I will! If it’s Astrid he wants, then it’s Astrid he gets._

The Traveler—nods? His consciousness in Jester’s mind nods, at the very least, acknowledging her point. _And what if Astrid is not what he wants?_

 _Who else could he?_ Jester asks.

“Your drinks,” Caleb says, breaking Jester out of her mental conversation. He has a tray of drinks in his right hand, and he swoops an elegant bow, flourishing his left hand as he does so. His purple coat catches in the golden light.

“For my lady Beauregard—” He presents a glass that Jester can _smell_ from here, eurgh, _Beau that’s so gross._ Beau crows in delight, and knocks it back.

She comes up sputtering.

“What the _fuck_ , Caleb?”

“You said paint stripper,” Caleb says unapologetically. His grin is beautiful.

Beau opens her mouth to make a stripper joke that Jester was also already formulating, then shuts it. “Fair enough.”

“To my lady Brenatto,” he continues, and presents another glass of some golden-brown liquid. Nott takes it and sips, and her countenance lights up.

“Thank you!”

“To our angel Yasha,” he says, and presents a tall, pretty glass filled with blue liquid and topped with a cute umbrella. Yasha takes it and thanks him with a smile.

“And finally, to the woman of the hour,” he says, and dramatically presents her with a mug of cold milk. Jester takes it and smiles at him, but her mind is still on the conversation with the Traveler.

 _If he wants her…_ she thinks, _if he wants her…_

Dimly she realizes the conversation has turned to gift-giving.

“We’ve got gifts!” Nott cries out, waving her hands about, “but maybe you’ll open them later? Will you do it in front of everyone or in private? I don’t know, I’ve never been to a wedding this grand!”

“It’s a _wedding_ ,” Beau says, sipping at her paint stripper. “Promises and pretty things, when everyone knows the important thing is the _food._ ”

“Wasn’t the food amazing!” Jester enthuses, a beat too late. “Did you taste the wedding cake! It has _four_ tiers!”

“It is taller than Nott, as you promised, Lavorre,” Caleb says dryly. “Though I have not tasted it.”

“It’s going to be the best thing you’ve ever eaten, trust me,” Jester sighs. “Though you’ve eaten some of it already, when we were doing the cake-tasting!”

Caleb had been _so helpful_ during the cake-tasting actually! Jester had managed to wrangle Fjord into helping with picking the cupcakes, but when she said she wanted wedding cake too, he’d thrown up his hands and said, “Pick whatever you want, Jessie!”

So Jester had dragged Caleb out of his room and made him come with her to all the cake tastings.

And you know…it went really well actually! Super well. He’d picked chocolate and cheesecake, and when Jester had sampled the four-tier wedding cake earlier, the flavors had gone together _ah-ma-zing-ly_.

Beau opens her mouth, looks at Yasha, then shuts it. Nott snorts. Jester giggles, waggling her eyebrows.

“But the _meat,_ ” Beau sighs in delight. “The bacon! The turkey! The duck! The chicken! The turducken!”

“The _meat_ ,” Nott sighs in agreement.

“Would you say, Beauregard,” Caleb says impishly, “that you liked the meat?”

He punctuates with a wink. Beau mimes gagging.

“That’s disgusting, Widogast.”

“I liked the fruit platter,” Yasha contributes, sipping her fruity drink.

The magical musicians change the song again, from upbeat to something smooth, something you could sway to. Jester looks down at her milk, thinking again of Astrid and diamonds, then makes an impulsive decision.

“Cayleb! Dance with me!”

Caleb’s eyes widen.

“What?”

“Dance with me!” Jester says again, jumping to her feet and twirling around. She holds a hand out to Caleb, widening her eyes as big as they can go, making herself look cute and impossible to say no to. “Come _on,_ Cayleb, it’s my wedding _and_ we haven’t danced yet _and_ —” in a flash of inspiration “—remember Hupperdook? You owe me a sober dance for that!”

If the eyes are the window to the soul, Jester has just seen Caleb close the windows—slam the shutters closed, draw the curtains, turn the lights off. She curses inwardly, but continues, as blithely as she can, “It’s my _weddddiinnngggg,_ Caleb. Are you going to say _no_ to the bride?”

She smiles hugely.

Caleb visibly wavers. “Nein, I will not,” he says, and takes her hand in his. “Lead on, Frau Lavorre.”

Caleb’s hand is warm in her own, so much warmer than her own actually! His skin is _so pretty_ against hers, Jester wants to paint it—blue against pale, almost pink skin, but his fingertips and palms are scarred with a hundred-thousand burns. She wants to trace that thick-scarred skin with her fingernails, wants to map each _Firebolt_ and _Fireball_ and _Wall of Fire_ , every magical inferno he ever conjured up to save, to kill, to protect. Sometimes all of those were the same thing.

(She remembers cowering behind a wall of fire as Avantika tried to kill them. She remembers standing in the blast as a charmed Caleb tried to kill them. She remembers shivering, terrified out of her wits, as Caleb said _I’m coming to you, Jester_ —held aloft a dodecahedron and saved all their lives.)

 ** _[You're in my arms, and all the world is calm / the music playing on for only two](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9zlFuLTNAKw)…_**the magical musicians croon.

She puts her hand on his waist; he puts his hand on her shoulder. A moment, and then they glide into the dance.

It’s seamless, it’s perfect, it’s— _step-forward-step-side-close-step, step-forward-step-side-close-step,_ but infinitely more elegant than Fjord had ever managed with her. Jester’s eyes drift closed, lets the music wash over her:

 _I should be Astrid,_ Jester thinks suddenly, _he should be holding Astrid right now, Caleb should be happy right now…_

She opens her eyes, and the world is hazy, blurry with tears—her heart is full and aching—Caleb’s eyes are closed, too, and there is a slight, sad smile playing on his lips. Jester wants to touch those lips. Jester wants to press herself in and pretend she is the small, beautiful, dark-haired girl whom Caleb is undoubtedly thinking of right now.

(A memory: Caleb on his knees, in front of a new-dug grave in Blumenthal. There is no body to bury, no ashes to mourn over. A memory: Caleb screaming, sobbing, _Astrid I’m sorry, I’m sorry_ —fire screeching and crackling behind them, fire devouring the body of Trent Ikithon, who had robbed Caleb of his life, of his parents, of his great love—

—who had disintegrated Astrid right before Caleb’s very eyes.

 _Astrid, I’m sorry,_ he had wept, and Jester and Beau and Nott had pressed in close to him. Jester had hugged him from behind and tried with her embrace to say _I’m here, I’m here, I love you, I’m here_.)

His eyes open, and he spins her out—she loses grasp of his hand, and she spins spins spins, once twice thrice, and then comes back to him—

(his eyes are so, so dizzyingly blue)

 ** _Now you’re / beside me / and look how far we’ve come,_** the magical musicians sing—Jester’s eyes fix on Caleb’s mouth, and she realizes with a sweet shock that he is singing along too—

“So far,” Caleb sings softly, “we are so close…”

She pulls him in tight and closes her eyes, letting the tears slip down her cheeks.

 _Caleb,_ she thinks to herself, _I want you to be happy. If Astrid is what will make you happy…_

“Do you want her back,” she mouths into his coat. “Do you want her back, I can give you that, I can make that happen, I can bring her back to life…”

“Pardon? Lavorre?” Caleb asks, pulling her away from him. She resists the pull.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

She nods into his coat.

“I just…” she says, muffling herself in the purple fabric of his coat. “I just…I’m the only one you dance with like this, right?”

She feels Caleb stiffen in her grasp.

**_Oh how can I face / the faceless days / if I should lose you now…_ **

“Ja,” he says hoarsely, “you are the only one, Lavorre.”

Jester tugs her hands from his hold, and throws them about his waist.

“I shouldn’t be,” she says, “oh, Caleb, I shouldn’t be! You should be—oh, I don’t know, dancing with someone beautiful and clever and talented and—”

 _Someone who loves you,_ she almost says, but she loves him, she loves Caleb! Just not in that way.

Caleb chuckles. “Are you saying you _aren’t_ beautiful and clever and talented?”

“Of course I am!” Jester says, faux-indignantly. Then, steeling herself: “Caleb, are you happy?”

She tips her face up to look him in the eye, and oh, the shutters, the curtains, the windows of his blue-blue eyes are all open. His eyelashes flutter red-gold and beautiful, his mouth is chapped and bitten-pink—his voice is deep and serious as he tells her, “I am.”

Jester is still pressed against him and she feels his heart stutter and his breath catch as he lies, “I am.”

She hugs him again, and keeps her head tucked against him. They spin in place, saying nothing, until the song comes to an end.

**

It turns out the opening of gifts comes after the reception but before the…Jester flushes, unable to think the word to herself.

 _You stupid girl,_ she chides herself, but oh, she’s not a girl anymore, is she? _You say you’re **soooo** good at sex, but you can’t even—can’t even—_

But this is Fjord, who is shucking off his waistcoat and undoing his hair tie. This is Fjord, her dear friend, her co-Mighty Nein member, who kissed her to save her life and slid a sapphire ring on her finger and made all her dreams come true. It’s going to be all right.

All her dreams came true tonight. Of course this will, too.

(Still, she’s glad for the avalanche of gifts sitting in the living room area of their suite in the Chateau.)

She sits in the middle of the mountain of bags and boxes, a white puff pastry in the middle of chaos. Her skirt fluffs out, glittering in the light, as she says, “Gifts! Fjord, let’s open them, let’s go!”

“All right,” he laughs, “all right!”

Plates, platters, cutlery, linens—Jester oohs and aahs over them all; curtains and pillows and decorations for the home they’ve already purchased, a pretty house with a tower near the docks of Nicodranas. But both Fjord and Jester know what they’re saving for last, and at last they come to it:

The small, wooden chest, banded with dark metal, that bears a simple sigil.

The mark of the Mighty Nein.

Jester looks at Fjord. Fjord looks at Jester.

They push aside the wrapping paper and boxes and touch the chest. A brief shower of sparks, then the lid of the chest swings open.

“ _Oh_ ,” Jester breathes in pain, in shock, while Fjord exhales through his nose.

Lying there, on a red pillow, are diamond jewelries.

Jester’s eyes fill with tears.

“Oh,” she says again, and turns to bury her face in Fjord’s chest.

His arms go around her automatically, and she feels him press a kiss to her hair. “They’re. Uh.” He clears his throat. “They...”

(Nott, dead on a cave floor—

Beau, limp and unbreathing—

Jester screaming, Fjord shouting, Yasha roaring, Caduceus still and horrified, Caleb with dead eyes, Caleb with closed eyes, Caleb who closed his blue eyes and opened them dead as ice—)

Jester swallows a sob.

“At least they’re pretty,” Fjord tries for a joke. “Hey, look, Jessie… _snaddy._ ” He pulls away from her, and shows her a [bracelet fashioned in the shape of a cobra](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/8a/de/ee/8adeeea6fa91dd84d2a206256350bc92.jpg), with a large blue diamond set in its hood. He slides his hand into it.

Jester chokes on a laugh.

She remembers the night with vivid clarity—remembers pushing against Beau’s warmth and gripping Nott’s fingers tight. It had been just a few days after Yasha had come back to them, different-colored eyes raw with pain and fear and terror.

They’d all huddled close into the bubble, terrified of losing each other, and Beau had said: “You know what? Fjord’s a sugar baby. He like, gets all these cool powers, and in exchange he has to serve Uk’otoa, right?”

“I’m not serving him,” Fjord cried out in protest.

Jester remembers—because god, Jester cannot forget—her shivering, her shuddering, struggling to get the words out, because if Beau is cracking a joke then she _has_ to back her up.

“Uk’otoa’s a sugar daddy,” she’d said. “A snake sugar daddy.”

Caleb had been petting Frumpkin compulsively. Jester remembers this, remembers the way Caleb’s fingers had trembled in Frumpkin’s fur. She remembers Caleb looking up, forced cheer in his voice, and said, “A _snaddy_ , if you will.”

The tension broke, and the Mighty Nein had screamed with laughter, with relief, with— _oh god, we’re alive, we’re alive, we’re all still alive_.

And from then on Uk’otoa was _snaddy._

“And here’s yours,” Fjord says, plucking a [diamond choker](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/94/16/b1/9416b1a8907960f7da066b919aea18d8.jpg) from the pillow.

It _is_ pretty, Jester thinks, and reaches out for it. It’s wide, and absolutely encrusted with diamonds—enough, she knows, for both _revivify_ and _raise dead_. It twists and swirls in a vaguely floral pattern, a quiet plea from the Mighty Nein to her: _Please come back to us._

She takes the choker, and bares the back of her neck to Fjord.

His fingers fumble, fasten it. It’s a strange weight. It pricks at her a little, but.

 _Please come back to us_ , the Mighty Nein say, and when Jester feels it clasp about her neck, she says back, _I will. I promise, I will._

She turns back to him, and closing her eyes, pulls him in for a kiss.

(If tears slide down from her-his-their eyes, and their kiss tastes like salt—

They won’t tell.)

**

The next day, when Jester is tidying up the boxes and bags for delivery to their new home, she glances at the chest again.

There’s something peeking out from beneath the red pillow. She pulls it out.

Two smaller boxes, one labeled _Jester_ and the other _Fjord_. She touches hers, and the magical lock fizzles open with the release of magic that feels like Caleb’s.

(Like fire, always, like the crackling of flame, but also. But also. The warmth of fresh-baked bread and thickly-scarred hands in her own.)

She opens the smaller box, and there, lying unassumingly on another little red pillow, is a collection of pearl hairpins.

Jester stills. Reaches up to her hair, which is still mussed from…last night. (She flushes to think about it.)

Picks up a hairpin. Moves her bangs away from her forehead.

And slides Caleb's gift into place.

**Author's Note:**

> This work will have seven chapters, all corresponding to one prompt for Widojest Week.
> 
> Come yell at me on tumblr: [widobravely](http://www.widobravely.tumblr.com), and if you want to join the Widojest server, shoot me a PM there! <3


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